Choices
by CriesofCapricorn
Summary: Post “Exodus,” Charlie has a nice little talk with Turniphead, er, Aaron, about his past and current problems with drugs. Entirely done as a monologue, with cute and comical Charlie talk. Hints of CC.


- Post "Exodus," Charlie has a nice little talk with Turnip-head, er, Aaron, about his past and current problems with drugs. Entirely done as a monologue, with cute and comical Charlie talk. Hints of CC.

- I own NADA, but the story, itself.

- Please feel free to leave reviews of any kind, whether they are complimentary or constructively critical. Thanks!

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"So, here's the thing, you were taken by a bloody French loony and Sayid and me rescued you and all that, but your mum's still worried like mad and refused to go to sleep. Make a long story short, and we wind up here – with me watching you so Claire can rest. Now, couple of things. One, you can stay awake as long as you like – I don't care, but you can't make noise. No crying like last time, because I can't run to Sawyer – isn't available at the moment. Two, we've got to have a talk, right, uh, bloke to little bloke. Okay, are we good, here?

All right, listen, I've got a problem. Seems that there's always a problem, isn't there? But I mean, this time, it's not a problem, not yet, anyway. Here we go again, deep breath, Charlie, deep breath … I used be a drug addict. When you grow up, you'll learn that that's a very bad thing to be. Seriously. You try it once or even twice, and they've sucked you in into a world of confusion. And when you want to give 'em up, you can't. The whole withdrawal process is so … nauseating, repulsive. The anxiety is just … un-bloody-bearable, you know? No, suppose you wouldn't, being a baby and all. But it's like your throat closes up, and your pulse races, and you can't stop sweating. Actually, sort of like when you first fall in love, and get all jittery around a girl – like your mum, with her perfect sunshine-colored hair and cerulean-sky-like eyes, ahem. Sorry, but the, uh, drugs, much worse, because _love_ won't kill you, at least it's what they tell me.

I know, you're giving me a face. You'd best stop that straight away. I'll have you know, I gave them up. To my own amazement, I found out I actually had the sodding stones to throw the last baggie into a fire. And it was tough, Turnip-head. But after a while, I didn't think about Harry that much. I was much more focused on Claire, and this bad guy, Ethan, who wanted to hurt the two of you. Don't fret, though, I … uh … sorted it all out, to say the least.

Back to my dilemma, although I had destroyed _my_ last source of heroin, and here's one of the damn infamous 'buts,' while Sayid and me were looking for you, I found something else entirely. Fancy taking a stab in the dark of what it was? _Endless_ supplies of it. In statues of the Virgin Mary, no less. So much for bleeding irony, eh? I used to be a devout Catholic before drugs tore me apart from it. And as the statues shatter, Turnip-head, all that's left is the drugs. I mean, I don't know what to make of this. Locke, do you know him, no, probably don't, but he made you this very cradle and he helped me kick the habit … well, Locke – he's always going on about fate. And I'm wondering, is this it? Or is this a stonking, unbelievable, coincidence? Tell you what I know for sure, it's tempting. I even brought some with me, though I've got no idea what I'm going to do with it. So much for decisions, yeah…

Look – hold on. Got to see if there's anyone around … nope, clear coast. You see it, Turnip-head. Look how little the bag is. Could fit into a baby's hand. No, don't bloody raise your hand to touch it! Bad, bad baby boy! This looks like nothing, but it's … whew … it's _something_. Something that can change your whole life by getting hooked on it. Like break-up your band, which at one point, you loved more than anything. Like damage your relationship with your brother. Like get you on Oceanic Flight #815, which, though, unexpected, wonderfully, landed us here – to our very own hellhole island, swallowing bugs for breakfast. When you get older, I'll also teach you the art of sarcasm. It's a splendid invention, really, and it can really get on people's nerves when you want it to. Hey, don't look at me like that. Everyone's got a devilish persona way underneath – it's what makes us human.

Making us human. Being human means making choices. Right? Right. So say I don't take this little baggie that I'm holding. Say I've made up my mind and decided to say 'no' to these things once and for all. But that's here. Understand. It's here, that I can refuse them and throw 'em away in a bin – this case, being a fire. But what if Michael and the rest of his lot found help. And I'm going to need to knock on wood, here, your cradle, because I pray to God Almighty they did. They're our only chance, you know. Okay, okay, don't get fussy. I didn't mean to scare ya. I take it back, all right, we've got plently, just _oodles_, of ideas stored up in case Plan A flunks. I mean it. But if they've found help, and we get out of here, what do I do? Where do I go? Do I show up at Liam's doorstep, and say, 'Hey, looks like I didn't croak, after all. Meanwhile, though, I ended up on a mysterious island, where I kicked my addiction, just like you. Now we can try to be best mates.' Nah, too awkward, isn't it? And if I don't do that though, do I stick with my previous lifestyle, and get re-hooked on Harry, now that a fix can be found everywhere for the right price. What would the point of that be? Running in circles, is what. Nothing more to it but putting myself through hell here, trying to stop, and then substitute it with another hell that will probably get me killed, or royally screwed up.

What I'd like to do, truth be told, is follow you and your mum around when we take off from here. It'd be nice, wouldn't it? When your mum would be too busy watching you, I could run her errands and things. And, you know, maybe vice versa. Could teach you how to play the guitar like you wouldn't believe, Turnip-head. You'd be a legend. And you'd start your own band, someday, make millions, maybe send your mum and me somewhere nice like Hawaii (hear it's lovely there), but by cruise, and not by plane … because sort of afraid – well, mortified, actually – of airplanes now. In that band of yours, although the birds would go mad for you, throwing their private belongings at you and what-not, you wouldn't do anything stupid, you know. Nothing that would make your mum cry, like doing what I did.

In a perfect world, things would be different, you know. No one would be here. But we'd still all be together. Claire and I and you, who would be _ours_. Because I've taken a special fancy to you, God knows why, you haven't done anything for me, but wail constantly in my ear until I had to seek _Sawyer's_ help, of all people. Yet if anything like tonight ever happened again, I wouldn't hesitate a second to do what I did. Look, even got an injury because of you, you little pillock, and, what, I don't even get a mere 'thank-you' from you. Think it's funny, do you, with that big, adorable, toothless smile of yours. That's another thing I've got to teach you – manners.

Believe me, Turnip-head, I really want to teach you all these things and so much more. Want to take care of you. I know Lucy said I wasn't capable of it, but I think I've changed this time, I _hope_ I really have, at least. But that's the thing, isn't it? If I start taking this rubbish in my palm again, your mum would never let me touch a hair on your head. Same goes with her, yeah? So, tell me, Turnip-head – um, I mean, Aaron. Aaron, it's a fantastic name, just got to get used to it, is all. What do I do, Aaron?

It's either Harry or Aaron and Claire. Well, when you put it that way, the choice is rather simple, isn't it? You can do this, Charlie. The second time isn't as hard as the first. Now, goodbye, Harry. Nice knowin' you. Well, actually, it wasn't – just figure of speech, you know. You're going to burn in this fire, Harry, and let's just hope, for my sake and Claire's and Aaron's, you stay buried this time. Okay, I'm gonna let go of the baggie any minute now, Aaron. What, you don't believe me? I am! See, see, - good bloody riddance, filthy junk.

Well, whew, that wasn't so hard. Don't look so smug, Turnip-head. Even if it was hard, you're not going to tell anyone about it, are you? That's right, you're not. So don't even start. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for listening. You can go to sleep now if you'd like. Don't be frightened, I was just coming in to give you a little peck on the forehead. All right, rest now. And nothing to worry about, Aaron, you know perfectly well that I'm not letting you go out of my sight."


End file.
